


December

by lemonsorbae



Series: Shoe Box Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carpenter!Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, artist!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucked in the corner of a bustling, artsy college town, where it’s rarely bothered or given a second glance, rests a shoe box apartment. It’s decrepit, all red brick walls and squeaky wooden floorboards, but dirt cheap and bearable. It’s the kind of place that grows on you, that is as quaint as it is old, and it’s where Dean and Castiel (and Castiel’s cat) have been taking up residency for the past year or so while Dean finishes up carpentry school, and Castiel works on his art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to update this once a month for 12 months. Based off of [this](http://foreordain.tumblr.com/post/66741025465/dean-cas-college-au-in-which-the-two-lovers) post and written to prove, I CAN DO FLUFF. (Cross posted from [tumblr](http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/68751063454/december).)

The first snow of the season comes in early December. It flutters to the ground in big icy flakes, coating the pavement and streets in a fresh blanket of white and eliminating all hope the locals had for a mild winter.

Just days before the world had been awash in bright yellows, and oranges, deep reds, and browns and the air had been crisp and smelt of earth and change, the small town clinging to autumn with a fierce optimism.

Now all that’s left of fall are piles of soggy leaves collecting in the gutters.

Dean blinks his eyes open against weak beams of sunlight that pour in through the windows and cast a soft glow across the double bed, doing little to warm the tiny apartment.

Next to him, Castiel stirs in his sleep. He’s got vestiges of paint in the scruff on his jaw; smudges of royal blue and a brilliant turquoise that he’d spent hours swiping onto his canvas the night before.

Dean hardly recognizes Cas without some form of paint or artist’s chalk on him anymore.

They’d argued about it once, Castiel coming to bed covered in his work, soiling their originally white down comforter and ivory cotton sheets. But when Castiel had agreed to try and be better, had scrubbed himself raw of all traces of his talent, something longing had twisted inside of Dean’s chest and it had only taken him a few days to come to the realization that a Cas covered in paint and smelling of pencil led was _his_ Cas. After that he never said another word about waking up to yellow finger prints pressed into his skin or charcoal smudges on their pillow cases.

Castiel shifts again, burrowing deeper beneath the covers with a slight scowl on his face. “I can feel you looking at me, Dean,” he mutters without opening his eyes, “go back to sleep.”

Dean chuckles softly and winds an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling the other man against his chest and pressing soft, attentive lips into Castiel’s unruly hair. Castiel pushes chapped lips sleepily against Dean’s collar bone in return, his bare chest warm against Dean’s own, as he slots a thigh in between Dean’s and yawns.

Dean traces his fingers along the valley of Castiel’s spine, sweeping over vertebrae and sliding to just above the waistband of Castiel’s underwear before ascending again to where his hair hangs too long, curling at the base of his neck.

"You need a haircut," Dean tells him.

"And you need to stop talking while I’m sleeping."

Dean tangles his fingers in Castiel’s hair and guides the other man’s face away from where it’s buried in Dean’s throat until Castiel is blinking up at him with sleepy, irritated eyes.

"Must you?" Castiel asks when Dean smiles down at him.

Dean nods, “I must,” he answers. He tilts Castiel’s chin up, his own face canting downwards and their lips meet somewhere in the middle.

They pull away when Vincent, Castiel’s mangy, calico cat, leaps onto the bed and sniffs curiously at the mounds their bodies make underneath the covers, mewling at them pathetically to be included. The cat paws its way up onto Castiel’s side and then teeters precariously until he can push a cold nose up against Castiel’s cheek.

Cas bats gently at him with the few fingers he’s willing to allow from beneath the comforter, and Vincent climbs down and settles against Castiel’s back, a fierce purr rumbling from his chest once he’s comfortable.

Castiel settles back against Dean, scratching fingers along the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck and sighing deep and groggy.

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Dean rests a hand on Cas’s hip, “Not that I don’t enjoy this,” he says then adds, “immensely. But I’ve gotta get up. I have class in thirty minutes.”

"Skip," Castiel suggests, the word muffled against Dean’s chest. It’s a tempting thought with Cas so warm and heavy beside him and snow still drifting down from the thick grey clouds outside, but he’s trying to maintain a good rapport with the instructor and Castiel’s Christmas present is still underway at the school.

"I can’t," he says after a minute of hesitation, "but I’ll be back, okay? Don’t sleep all day without me." He presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and then forces himself to roll from the other man’s grasp.

"Mphm," is Castiel’s response.

Dean sits up in bed, the cold air curling around him in an icy grip causing goose bumps to form on his bare flesh. He shivers when his feet hit the frozen wood flooring of their apartment and complains all the way to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later Dean’s bundled up and ready to fight the frigid air outside. He approaches the bed one last time before leaving, pulling the comforter up around Castiel’s sleeping form and scowling at Vincent who has moved into Dean’s spot and is now curled up against Castiel’s chest rather than his back.

The cat gives him a satisfied smirk and Dean thinks he’s been right the whole time in referring to the cat as “the other man”, Vincent and Castiel’s art being the only other things Dean has to fight for Castiel’s affection.

He leaves for class incredibly anxious to return home.

 

When Dean steps back through the door a few hours later his nose and ears are red from the cold and he feels numb right down to the bone. Most of the snow outside has melted and turned to a grayish slush, but the air is still sharp and chilling.

He’s met with the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafting out from the oven and smiles when he catches Castiel - in thick, wool socks, boxer briefs, and one of Dean’s tatty plaid shirts - hunched over the open oven door.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says dropping his book bag on the ground by the door and shrugging out of his coat, "nice get up."

He’d learned long ago that Castiel was a very abstracted person, gliding through life with only a fourth of his mind on what was actually going on while the rest of his efforts were usually focused on his art. He was the very epitome of the term ‘starving artist’ and while their relationship had been rocky at first, Dean taking Cas on dates for a full six weeks before the other man even realized they were dating, now it was all just part of what Dean loved so much about Castiel.

When Castiel doesn’t respond Dean approaches him in the kitchen, “Smells good in here,” Dean states wrapping stiff arms around Castiel’s waist and placing a kiss on Cas’s neck before dropping his chin to rest on the other man’s shoulder.

"I’m making cookies," Castiel informs Dean as he scoops the gooey cookies off the cookie sheet and onto a cooling rack.

Dean spots the roll of cookie dough on the counter and presses his lips against Castiel’s neck again. “Looks to me like Nestlé made the cookies,” he mutters against Castiel’s skin.

Castiel shivers against the cold feel of Dean’s nose and lips against him, but doesn’t turn around. “Yes, well,” he says, “we’re out of eggs and Mary didn’t answer when I called for the recipe.”

"Shoulda called me," Dean says moving to stand next to Cas, swiping a cookie from the cooling rack and popping it into his mouth. They aren’t homemade, definitely don’t taste homemade, but they’re still warm - and maybe a little bit delicious. Some of the melted chocolate sticks to a corner of Dean’s mouth while the rest slides down his throat with a nostalgic warmth, "I would have picked up some eggs and told you where you could find the recipe.”

"I got sidetracked," Castiel responds with a shrug. He puts the last of the dough on the cookie sheet and slides the pan into the oven, setting the timer and taking a cookie for himself.

Dean glances over at the easel by the window that holds Castiel’s latest work and studies the additions that have been made since the night before. Castiel’s art is all looping lines and minimalistic color pallets, different than anything Dean had ever seen before, but there’s something so innately _Cas_ about the work that draws Dean in every time.

His view is cut off by Castiel stepping in front of him and he locks his gaze on Castiel’s deep blue eyes.

"Will you start a fire?" Cas asks running paint streaked hands over Dean’s chest and fingering the soft collar of his grey henley, "It’s extremely cold."

Dean fits his hands to Castiel’s hips and shifts his weight against the countertop so that his legs bracket Castiel’s. “Well, maybe if you’d put some clothes on you wouldn’t be so cold.” He states with a smirk.

"I thought you liked it when I walked around in my underwear," Castiel points out.

"Fair enough."

Dean fixes his lips against Castiel’s gently pushing his tongue inside Castiel’s mouth and sliding his hands down the small of Castiel’s back until they reach the swell of his ass. He grips the other man tightly and pulls him closer. Castiel leans against him heavily, kissing back with earnest for a few blissful seconds before he’s pulling away.

"Dean, fire, please," he requests again.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

Castiel pecks Dean’s lips once more with a smile on his face. “Thank you.” As he turns to walk away Dean grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back in. Castiel looks up at him through the dark fringe of his lashes.

"Just so we’re clear," Dean mutters lowly, his lips right against Castiel’s ear, "I’m not finished with you yet." He places a playful bite on the side of Castiel’s neck and then pushes past the other man, smirking at the heated look Castiel tries, and fails, to hide.

As Dean works on getting a fire going he can hear Castiel behind him, moving things around in the kitchen, talking to the cat, and answering his phone when the sharp shrill of it blares through the apartment. The conversation sounds like a continuation of a previous conversation and Dean tunes it out as he lights a handful of newspaper on fire and sets it under the few logs he’s stacked in the fireplace. Within a few minutes there’s a modest fire going and Castiel is ending his phone call.

When Castiel turns to head for his easel rather than join Dean in front of the fire, Dean calls out to him.

"Hey!" Dean shouts, "When I said I wasn’t done with you, I meant it! Get over here!"

"Dean, I have work to do," is Castiel’s muttered response. He’s already dipping his paintbrush into one of his cans of paint and Dean can tell by the look in the other man’s eyes he’s about to lose his boyfriend to his easel for the next few hours. He jumps up and rushes to Castiel’s side, pulling the paintbrush from Castiel’s hand and letting it drop to the floor.

"Dean, that will stain!"

"Whatever," Dean counters, "we forfeited our deposit a long time ago because of that damn cat of yours." He bends down and hefts the other man into the air and folds him over his shoulder. Castiel squawks at him, a sound of pure offense, but Dean ignores him.

"Dean Winchester!" Castiel shouts as he pounds on Dean’s back, "Put me down! You’re acting ridiculous!"

It’s a laborious walk back to the fire place with Castiel’s six-foot-made-of-pure-muscle frame squirming the whole way, Dean buckling under the other man’s weight a couple of times, but they make it and Dean is quick but gentle to lay Castiel out on the rug.

Once he has Castiel on his back, Dean straddles Castiel’s hips resting most of his weight on the other man so Castiel can’t escape and disappear into his work.

"Dean," Castiel breathes, blue eyes blinking.

"C’mon, baby," Dean says, "I feel like I haven’t seen you all day."

Castiel sighs. “Fine,” he finally complies, “I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

"Well aren’t I a lucky bastard!"

"Shut up," Castiel says fondly, swatting at Dean’s thigh. "How was school?"

Dean shrugs. “Not much to talk about. We started building rocking chairs; Jo tried to get me to sand her wood down for her, same ole, same ole. Who was on the phone?”

Castiel’s running his hands up and down Dean’s denim clad thighs, his eyes trained there as he speaks.

"Balthazar. He says that Bela Talbot woman may want to buy another painting."

Dean leans over Castiel, both hands on either side of Castiel’s head, his green eyes glittering down at the other man. “Yeah?” he asks with a broad grin on his face.

Castiel’s beginning to gather a few clients here and there, make somewhat of a name for himself and sometimes his paintings are what keep them in their apartment and the hot water running.

Castiel nods, looking up at Dean “Yes,” he confirms.

"Babe, that’s awesome!"

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel responds. His excitement is quieter, more contained, shown in a smile somewhere beneath all that neglected scruff of his, and the brightening of his eyes and Dean bends down to kiss him.

"I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that, right?" Dean asks, his voice coming out gruff and quiet as he runs a thumb along Castiel’s cheekbone.

"Yes," Castiel says, "I know."

Dean smiles at him and says, “Good,” before leaning down and kissing Castiel again. Castiel opens his mouth to Dean, deepening the kiss and Dean greedily complies, groaning ever so slightly when Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s thighs and pushes him further into the kiss.

When Dean pulls away Castiel arches his back, tries to chase Dean’s lips, but Dean pushes him gently back to the ground with a soft chuckle. His fingers go for the buttons on the flannel Castiel’s wearing and he slides each one through its hole until the shirt hangs open, bunched at Castiel’s sides. The dance of flames cast shadows on Castiel’s chest and torso making his body glow in the dimly lit apartment. Dean slides calloused hands - well worked but gentle - up Castiel’s flank, marveling at the jump and skitter of muscle that follows in the wake of his touch.

He leans down to presses kisses into Castiel’s skin, light and tender along Castiel’s ribs, his sternum, and collar bone and Castiel twines his fingers in Dean’s hair, sighing contentedly underneath Dean.

Dean drags the flat of his tongue across a nipple eliciting a gasp from Castiel and the tightening of his fingers in Dean’s hair and Dean smiles as he licks it again until it perks up and then takes it between his teeth and bites down. It’s not a harsh bite, but it has the other man growling obscenities at Dean and yanking his head upwards by his hair so Castiel can kiss him again.

This time their kisses are hungry and deep, Castiel pushing his hands up underneath Dean’s henley so he can drag blunt nails down Dean’s back, and Dean grinding down against Castiel, heaving a huff of frustration because he’s still very much clothed.

Even through his denim though he can feel Castiel is growing hard beneath him, matching Dean’s own arousal and so Dean moves from pushing messy, open mouthed kisses along Castiel’s jaw, down to working dark marks that won’t fade for days into the other man’s hips, dropping a kiss here or a bite there on his way down.

When Castiel begins to squirm and thrust into open air, Dean hooks his fingers into the waistband of Castiel’s underwear and slides them down the other mans thighs, catching a glimpse of stray paint as he goes.

"Babe, you’ve got yellow on your leg," Dean comments offhandedly as he tosses Castiel’s underwear aside and watches his boyfriend’s erection bob against his abdomen.

"It’s not yellow, Dean, it's xanthous.”

"Whatever it is, Van Gough, it’s on your thigh." Dean learned long ago not to ask how shit gets where it does - often times Castiel can’t even explain it, but it’s always amusing to him when he finds it in nearly impossible places.

"I intended to shower when I was finished," Castiel counters, "you’re the one deterring me from doing so."

Dean’s response is to throw the other man’s legs over his shoulders and to take Castiel’s arousal in hand and wrap his lips around the head before sliding them down as far as he can go. Castiel’s mouth falls open, a choked gasp tumbling out, and Dean begins to move up and down Castiel’s length with his mouth.

In the kitchen the timer beeps and until then Dean had forgotten all about the other batch of cookies Castiel had put in the oven. Castiel thrusts up in surprise, a hissed, “The cookies!” rushing from between his lips, but Dean just sucks harder, ignoring the annoying shrill of the timer, and Castiel’s half-assed protests.

After a moment Castiel sags, his weight falling back onto Dean’s shoulders, and Dean smiles around him, bobbing his head more enthusiastically.

Castiel reaches a hand out across the rug and Dean spares one of his own to reach back and slot his fingers between Castiel’s, molding their palms together and holding on tight.

It doesn’t take long for Castiel to stiffen beneath Dean, dig his heels into Dean’s back and come down Dean’s throat. Dean sucks it all down and swallows before pulling off and lowering Cas’s legs back down to the rug.

When Castiel gathers his wits about him and peels his eyes open, he squints at Dean, two slivers of blue boring into him from across the way.

Dean offers him a cheeky smile and Castiel opens his mouth to say something when his phone begins to ring. It’s across the room and Castiel looks at Dean, a torn look in his eyes. Dean can tell the other man is contemplating getting up and getting it so Dean covers Castiel’s body with his own.

"Don’t you dare," Dean mutters against Castiel’s lips.

"It could be Balthazar," Castiel protests.

Dean shakes his head, “Dude can leave a message, we’re in the middle of something.”

Castiel allows himself to be kissed and soon enough the ringing stops. Dean thinks he’s in the home stretch, is just pulling his shirt over his head, when _his_ phone starts ringing and he groans, dropping his head to Castiel’s shoulder and discarding his henley on the floor next to them.

"The universe is against me getting off today, I fucking swear," he grumbles as he sits up and digs his phone out of his pocket. He accepts the call and puts the phone against his ear, moving to lean his back up against the couch that sits in front of their fireplace. It’s old and antiquated; the design on the cushions having long ago gone out of style, but it’s almost more comfortable than their bed and fits both of them on it at once so Dean doesn’t see either of them suggesting to get rid of it anytime soon.

"Hello?" Dean grumbles into the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose, he’s still hard and it’s starting to hurt, the need for release causing him to ache. Castiel sits up too and pulls his underwear back on, Dean’s eyes tracking the slide of fabric up Castiel’s toned runner’s legs. The voice on the other line speaks and Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel’s legs and up to his eyes.

"Who is it?" Castiel mouths.

"Mom," Dean mouths back.

Castiel nods and leaves for the kitchen, pulling the burnt cookies out of the oven and setting the cookie sheet on the stove. Dean tunes his mother’s voice in and listens to her ask if everything was alright explaining she missed a call from Castiel and that he didn’t pick up when she’d called back.

"Yeah mom, everything is fine, he just wanted your chocolate chip cookie recipe."

Castiel is back now, sitting on the couch behind Dean and pressing him forward so Castiel can slide in behind him on the floor. Dean leans his back against Castiel’s chest and the other man begins to drop kisses to Dean’s bare, freckled shoulders.

"Yeah he made some," Dean responds to his mother, half his brain leaving the conversation as Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s torso and splays a hand on Dean’s stomach and another on his chest. "He burned them," he adds with a smirk. At that Castiel pinches one of Dean’s nipples and it's everything Dean can do not to yelp.

Mary begins to ask about how school’s going and how Castiel’s art is coming along and Dean doesn’t want to be rude, but when Castiel flicks the button fly of Dean’s jeans open, Dean pushes out a hurried, “I have to go, mom, I’ll call you later,” and fumbles with his phone to hit the end button. Once he’s certain the line has been disconnected he drops his phone to the floor and lets his head fall back on Castiel’s shoulder as the other man pulls Dean’s erection from his underwear.

"Cas, you son of a bitch," Dean grates out as Castiel thumbs at Dean’s slit.

Castiel kisses Dean’s neck and begins to jerk Dean off, his fist tight and perfect around Dean’s arousal and Dean loses himself in the up-down slide along his shaft.

When he spills all over Castiel’s hand, Castiel sucks gently at the knob of Dean’s jaw, working him through his orgasm. When Dean’s breathing evens out and the stars have cleared from his head, he puts a palm to Castiel’s cheek.

"I love you," Castiel mutters quietly, his words mixing with the pop and crackle of flames just a few feet away.

The sun is dipping below the horizon now, the world outside them growing quiet in the impending darkness and Dean turns his head just so, pressing a soft kiss against Castiel’s lips.

"I love you too," he says.

That night just before sleep claims him, with Castiel tucked up against his side, and the smell of burnt cookies still lingering in the air Dean wonders, for the millionth time in his life, how the hell he got so lucky.


	2. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Part 2 (which is an elaboration of [this](http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/70750453172/dean-and-cas-having-lazy-christmas-morning-sex) post.) Updates for this fic can be found in the [shoe box verse tag](http://www.tumblr.com/search/shoe+box+verse). Enjoy!

A fresh batch of snow falls on Christmas Eve painting a Winter Wonderland landscape outside and dropping the temperature about ten degrees. The streets are quiet, vacant of their usual hustle and bustle, and the world has a stillness about it that completes the picturesque atmosphere.

Dean and Castiel had driven to the Winchester household the night before driving a few hours ahead of the snowfall and arriving just in time for warm chicken pot pie and hot apple cider. They’d unwrapped pajamas (matching plaid bottoms, compliments of Dean’s mother) and stayed up late into the night catching up with Dean’s brother, Sam and his fiancé, Jess.

When Dean wakes on Christmas morning he finds himself pinned to their mattress underneath six foot of sleeping artist who, sometime during the night, maneuvered himself on top of Dean because apparently sleeping next to him just wasn’t good enough.

Castiel’s body is warm and solid above him and he smells of tea tree and ginger with the barest hints of campfire. He’d sketched in front of the fire for hours the night before and though he’d showered afterwards the smell of burnt wood and ash still clung to his skin ever so slightly.

Castiel mutters in his sleep a little, rubbing his nose absently against the underside of Dean’s jaw, and shifting his hips until Dean can feel the hard line of Castiel pressed against his thigh. He had planned to let the other man sleep a little longer, but that’s just something that can’t go to waste and so he slips his hands underneath the waistband of Cas’ underwear and presses his fingers into the supple flesh of Castiel’s ass.

He kneads until he can feel the other man begin to wake above him, Castiel letting out a soft moan and shifting again.

”Wake up, baby,” Dean mutters quietly, “Its Christmas.” 

The room is silent for a minute more and then Castiel grumbles a sleep thick, “Dean?” into the open air. Dean doesn’t answer, just keeps grabbing handfuls of Castiel’s ass, and after a beat Castiel says, “Oh,” as his body thrusts lightly against Dean’s of its own accord. 

Castiel places a hand on the side of Dean’s face and kisses at his neck as he begins to rock his erection against Dean’s thigh slow and lazy. With Castiel now mostly awake Dean slides the other man’s boxer briefs off his hips and pulls them over the curve of his ass. They get as far as his thighs before Castiel has to maneuver them off the rest of the way and while he’s up he tugs at the waistband of Dean’s underwear as well. Dean raises his hips off the bed, his eyes trained on Castiel’s face as the other man slides them off of Dean and when they’re both rid of their clothing Castiel leans over Dean with a soft smile on his face.

"Good morning," Dean says reaching a hand up and cupping Castiel’s cheek.

"Good morning," Castiel parrots. He leans down and kisses Dean deeply before slotting himself on top of Dean, their erections pressing up against one another causing Castiel to suck in a gasp, and begins to rut.

Their movements are unhurried, slothful almost and when Castiel lets out another moan, louder this time, now that he’s awake, Dean hushes him with a kiss.

Placing his hands on Castiel’s hips Dean flips them so that Castiel lands flat on his back and Dean hovers above him. He rolls his hips against Castiel’s and Cas’ hands come up to rest against Dean’s ribs.

"Dean," he groans out, his eyes falling shut and his legs spreading wide beneath Dean. Dean can feel the pressure of orgasm building in his belly and tingling at his lower back and he thrusts a little faster, a little deeper to coax them both towards release.

"You gotta be quiet, Cas," Dean mutters as he nips at Castiel’s ear lobe, "my parents are down the hall."

"Mmmhmm," is Castiel’s response. He shifts his hips up against Dean’s, his body growing taut against Dean’s own and within a few minutes Dean feels the spurt of hot come coat his abdomen and drip down his hips. Castiel goes pliant beneath him, a satisfied sigh tumbling from his lips and he lies mostly still as Dean ruts against him until he’s shaking through his own release.

When Dean rolls off of Cas and fits himself along the other man’s side Castiel turns and threads deft fingers through Dean’s hair and pulls him into a kiss. Their tongues tangle together sluggishly, the quiet press of their lips the only sound in the room, and they only pull away when the sound of a door closing with a soft click sounds outside their bedroom door.

"We should get up," Dean comments as Castiel burrows himself against Dean’s chest and tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean scratches idly up and down Castiel’s back, pressing soft kisses into the other man’s hair, his actions in complete defiance of his words.

"I’d rather not," Castiel states, winding an arm around Dean’s waist, "you’re warm and I’m still tired."

"C’mon," Dean says wiggling out of Castiel’s grasp, "I’ll start the shower."

Castiel lets out an irritated groan as Dean throws the covers off of them, but Dean ignores it, dropping a kiss to Castiel’s collarbone, his sternum, ribs, and hip and then planting one to the tip of Castiel’s softened, still slightly sensitive dick. Castiel swats at him with a pillow, but Dean is quick to get out of the way and he hurries across the bedroom into the bathroom attached to their room with a devious chuckle.

The shower is nice and hot when they finally step inside and while Dean had every intention of making it quick so they could head downstairs to be with the rest of the family, he finds himself pushing Castiel up against the tiles instead and working his tongue into the other man’s mouth. He reaches down a hand and tugs on Castiel’s dick until he’s hard and curving towards his belly and then Dean drops to his knees and swallows Castiel down, Castiel’s head thudding softly against the tiled walls and his fingers tangling in Dean’s hair.

When Castiel empties his release down Dean’s throat shortly after, a thread of victory curls inside of Dean. It’s the first time in awhile Castiel’s had two orgasms in such a short amount of time and if he got nothing else but that for Christmas, Dean would still go to sleep that night completely satisfied. He’s pulled from his thoughts when Castiel’s long, warm fingers close around his own arousal and then he’s lost in the tightness around him while Castiel jacks him quick and dirty and the hot water from the shower pounds into his back. He drops his head to Castiel’s shoulder and when he comes he muffles a groan into the other man’s skin.

Dean breathes through his climax and when he feels steady enough he raises his head and puts his hands on either side of Castiel’s face and pulls the man in for a kiss. Its tender and lazy, no heat behind it, and Castiel curls his fingers around Dean’s wrists as he kisses back.

"Can we please go back to bed after this?" Castiel asks when they pull away. Dean ignores the question and turns to grab a bottle of shampoo. He flips the cap open and turns it upside down, squirting some into Castiel’s hair. Castiel frowns at him as the cold liquid hits his scalp. "I can do it," he informs Dean.

Dean offers him a cheeky grin, “I know you can. But I like that adorable, little grump monster face you give me when I do it for you.” 

Castiel huffs at him and raises his hands to his head and begins to work the shampoo into his hair, “Fuck you, Dean, I am not a grump monster,” he grumbles.

"Yeah okay, Mr. Sunshine."

They banter back and forth as they scrub up and when they climb out of the shower, they slip into the pajama bottoms Mary had given them the night before. They pad downstairs, fingers intertwined, and find Dean’s family already milling about in the kitchen, loading their plates with bacon and hash browns, pancakes, french toast, and cheesy omelets.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Mary says with a warm smile.

"Merry Christmas," they offer back.

They fill plates of their own and join John, Sam, and Jess at the table. Sam shoots a knowing smirk Dean’s way and Dean flips him the bird, ignoring the flare of pink he feels in his cheeks. Castiel’s hand settles on Dean’s thigh and he gives it a light squeeze. Dean looks over at him and smiles and then because Dean is a big boy and not in the least bit petty he leans in and steals a kiss from Cas when he knows Sam is watching.

He catches the roll of Sam’s eyes and the shake of his head and Dean offers Sam a triumphant grin.

Light conversation fills the table as they eat their breakfast, Sam and Jess offering up wedding details and how things are going at Stanford while Mary asks Dean and Castiel how things are going in their neck of the woods.

When breakfast is finished Mary herds everyone into the den and Jess sits at the foot of the Christmas tree, handing out presents to everyone. Castiel gets a new coffeemaker from John and Mary, his eyes lighting up with delight as he reads about all the functions their current coffeemaker doesn’t have and Dean receives a tool box from Sam and Jess. When Dean unwraps a brand new jigsaw from his parents, tears sting his eyes and he mutters a gruff ‘thank you’ while Castiel smiles at him soft and amused over Dean’s emotion.

"What about your gifts to each other?" Jess asks Dean and Castiel after all the presents have been cleared from underneath the tree.

"Mine was too big to bring," Castiel states, looking over at Dean, "I was planning to give it to you when we got home."

"Babe, I thought we agreed not to spend money on each other," Dean protests.

"Who says I spent money on it?" Castiel counters with a smug raise of his eyebrows.

"Better not have," Dean grumbles.

"What about Castiel’s?" Jess asks.

"His is at home too," Dean admits, "wasn’t sure how to hide it. It’s not wrapped and it’s kinda big too. But I didn’t spend money either," he quickly adds then looks at Castiel, "sorry."

Castiel shakes his head, “its okay, Dean,” he says planting a kiss on Dean’s lips, “that was the deal.”

"So lunch then?" John pipes in. It’s only been about an hour since they last ate, but at the sound of food, Dean perks up.

Mary and Jess head to the kitchen to pull out things for sandwiches and John goes about starting another fire. Castiel pads off to the bedroom they’re staying in and comes back a few minutes later with his sketch pad and a bag of charcoal.

"I’m going to lose you to that thing for a good five hours, aren’t I?" Dean asks as Castiel settles onto the couch, pulling his legs up underneath him.

"I’m not hungry," Castiel explains, "just while you eat. I promise."

Dean nods and drops a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and then leaves his boyfriend to find his mom and Jess in the kitchen.

After lunch they pack up their gifts and give their good byes to Dean’s family. It’s only a two hour drive back, but another storm is heading in from the direction their headed and so they agree to leave before it’s due to hit.

Mary packs up some leftover chicken pot pie and coffee with them for the road and then they climb into the Impala and head for home.

They arrive home mid-afternoon, the sun hanging bright and cheerful in the sky but not quite warm enough to melt any of the snow. Dean hauls their gifts into the apartment while Castiel brings in their overnight bags and then they’re shutting out the cold with a click of their front door. Dean gets to work starting a fire and Castiel scratches behind Vincent’s ears as the cat purrs its hello against Castiel’s palm.

"I have something for you," Castiel tells the cat. He brings out a can of tuna and lets Vincent sniff at it for a few seconds before opening it and setting it on the floor. The cat pounces on it like it’s his last meal on earth and Dean rolls his eyes.

"If he pukes that up, I’m not cleaning it up," Dean informs Castiel as he maneuvers logs around in the fireplace.

"He’s not going to puke," Castiel counters.

When the fire is lit Dean instructs Castiel to sit on the couch and close his eyes.

"Why, what are you doing?" Castiel wonders, "I’m still tired from this morning," he says.

"I’m giving you your present," Dean says, "I told you it’s not wrapped. And we need to build up your stamina. I plan to have marathon sex with you one of these days and I’m going to need you in tip top shape when we do."

"I’ll show you stamina, Winchester," Castiel mutters as he dutifully closes his eyes. Dean chuckles as he leaves the room to retrieve Castiel’s gift.

He carries the present, an easel he made at school, into the room with slightly shaking hands and an erratic heartbeat. Castiel has told him in the past how talented he thinks Dean’s woodwork is, but Dean still feels nervous every time he shows off his work, especially to someone as artistically inclined as his boyfriend. It’s the first time he’s ever made something of his own accord rather than due to an assignment and the design is all his own so as he sets it up an anxiety builds in his chest over whether or not Castiel will like it.

"Okay," he says and then watches carefully as Castiel’s eyes slide open and land on the gift.

"Dean," Castiel breathes as he stands from the couch and approaches the easel, "it’s beautiful.” He circles the easel with a quiet sort of wonder in his eyes, running his fingers over the intricate design carved into the box that will hold his paints and then dropping to his knees to brush careful hands over the same pattern that’s carved into the base of the tripod. 

"It’s bigger," Castiel notes, a pleased tone in his voice, "I can fit more paints in the box. I won’t have to put them on the floor anymore." Castiel turns and looks at Dean. "Did you design it?"

Dean nods. Castiel approaches him and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. “It’s perfect,” he says, “thank you.” Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s and Dean hums into the kiss, relieved Castiel approves.

"I’m glad you like it," he says when they pull apart.

"I love it," Castiel corrects, "now put your coat on, it’s my turn."

"Why do I need my coat?"

Castiel pulls his own on over the sweatshirt he stole from Dean’s duffle bag while at Dean’s parent’s house and gives Dean a look. “Because it’s outside,” he answers.

An interest sparks in Dean and he slips his jacket onto his shoulders and then follows Castiel out of the apartment.

Castiel leads them through the snow to the shed that sits behind their apartment building. It’s as old and run down as the apartments themselves and has been padlocked since they moved in. Dean had always assumed it was for extra storage.

Castiel pulls a key out of his jacket pocket and holds it up for Dean to take. “Don’t lose this,” Castiel tells Dean, “it’s the only one there is for now.”

Dean turns to fit the key into the lock, but Castiel reaches out a hand and wraps it around his wrist, stopping him before he gets that far.

"Before you open it I just want you to know everything was donated and a lot of it will need to be fixed up before you can use it. As far as the space, because there are only two other tenants in the building, Crowley said he doesn’t care what we do out here so long as I don’t bother him again about it and we don’t interrupt anyone else."

"Dude, did you make me a sex shed?" Dean asks.

Castiel blinks at him stonily before asking, “Is that really something that sounds appealing to you, Dean? A sex shed?”

"I don’t know," Dean responds and then says, "no. Shut up. It sounded better in my head."

"Just open the door, Dean."

Dean slides the key into the lock and turns it, confusion and curiosity swimming in his brain. When he pulls the doors to the shed open, all the air leaves his lungs.

Inside rests a humble collection of shop tools, saws, and tables, nail guns, and electric power tools all arranged so that if Dean wanted to, he could walk right in and get to work. There are extension cords piled up in one corner, a rickety old CD player in another and as Dean crosses the threshold and takes in all the appliances, a lump raises in his throat.

Singer Carpentry is scrawled somewhere on all the tools in faded permanent marker.

"Bobby give you all this stuff?" Dean asks quietly as he walks around the small shop.

"I called to see if he knew of anyone with things they were looking to get rid of. He told me he had just ordered new stuff for the school and that I could take what he wasn’t going to use anymore."

Dean stops in front of the empty space that’s clearly for the saw his parents bought him. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels so grateful and unworthy all at the same time.

"I don’t know what to say," Dean finally breathes.

"Its okay, isn’t it?" Castiel wonders. Dean can hear the anxiety in his voice. "You’re almost done with school and I figured you’d need some place to work."

Dean turns to Castiel and pulls him into his arms, “It’s awesome, baby,” he reassures Castiel, “awesome.” It’s more than awesome. It’s too much and its perfect and Dean is still in awe over it all, but he can’t seem the words to convey his feelings.

Castiel smiles, the weary expression melting from his face and Dean fits their lips together in a kiss of gratitude.

"Merry Christmas, Dean." Castiel mutters quietly when they pull apart, his forehead falling to rest gently against Dean’s own.

Dean smiles and kisses Castiel again. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”


End file.
